


Ask Me No Questions and I'll Tell You No Lies

by RowenaZahnrei



Category: Exiles (Marvel), X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Birthday, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Glass Eye, Lies, Mythology - Freeform, Storytelling, Truth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-19
Updated: 2016-01-23
Packaged: 2018-05-15 01:29:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5766748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowenaZahnrei/pseuds/RowenaZahnrei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All TJ Wagner wants for her birthday is to finally learn how her father lost his eye. Nightcrawler responds with three stories, each containing a hint of truth. Will TJ ever find out what really happened? Featuring the X-Men from the Exiles universe.<br/>COMPLETE STORY!  Reviews Welcome! :)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: A Birthday Request

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men or any of their infinite incarnations. Please don't sue me or steal my story!
> 
> NOTE: This story takes place in the Exiles dimension where Kurt and Wanda are married and have a grown daughter named TJ. The Exiles Nightcrawler sports a gray goatee, thinning hair, and a black eyepatch. In this universe Apocalypse is the main villain, Professor Xavier is dead, Wolverine is confined to a wheelchair, and Cyclops has left the X-Men to form his own Brotherhood.
> 
> NOTE II: This story was written in response to a challenge: How did the Nightcrawler of this universe lose his eye? It's composed in three layers, each with its own very different answer. The 'true' answer was inspired by the true story of how my grandfather lost his eye.

Rosie's Bar was all decked out for a party. Pink and blue balloons hovered in clusters over curling streamers and sparkling signs, all cheerfully proclaiming "Happy Birthday TJ!" and "You're 21 Today!"

Rosie wiped a few stray peanut skins and condensation rings from her hardwood counter and glanced over to the small group still laughing in the corner booth. Only an hour ago, the bar had been teeming with mutants of all shapes, sizes, and degrees of opacity. Now, only four remained, but they were the core and the heart of the party—and four of Rosie's favorite customers. Tucking her cloth into her pocket, Rosie sauntered over to the booth and placed her hands on her hips, one russet eyebrow arched over her twinkling green eyes.

"You do know last call was thirty minutes ago," she teased, struggling to keep up a stern expression as her straggling patrons blinked up at her. "If I wasn't so tired, I would probably have to chuck you all out into the street."

Logan sniggered, looking up at her with a toothy grin. "Hey, Rosie-girl," he greeted, backing his electric wheelchair away from the booth. "Take a load off! Come and sit by me."

Rosie looked from one slightly surprised face to another, feeling a sudden flush rise in her cheeks. She hadn't expected the Wolverine to actually invite her over… "I don't know…" she hedged.

"No, it's OK," TJ said, looking to her dad and mom for confirmation. Then she smiled. "Dad was just about to tell us a story." She shot her father a significant glance. "Weren't you, Daddy."

Kurt Wagner shot his daughter a look and Rosie couldn't help reflecting how much the slender, blue-skinned girl resembled him. The fuzzy, indigo superhero was sitting next to his daughter in the corner of the booth, one arm sprawled comfortably over the back of their seat. With the other, he was holding hands with his wife, Wanda, who was sitting next to Rosie. Despite his slowly graying hair and scarred features, the middle-aged X-Man was still quite dashing. As for Wanda, the formidable Avenger had retained her striking beauty, the few thin lines around her eyes only enhancing her broad smile. Like her daughter, Wanda's thick black hair was crowned with a glittery paper "Happy Birthday" tiara. Yet, aside from the gentle curve of her face, Rosie couldn't see much of the Scarlet Witch in TJ. From her playful golden eyes and delicately pointed ears to her long, spaded tail (which may or may not have been retractable, Rosie had never been sure) Talia Josephine Wagner was the spitting image of Kurt.

"But Liebling," Kurt was saying as Rosie broke out of her musings, his deep voice tinted with a faint, but unmistakable, German accent. He looked slightly uncomfortable. "We've been having such a good time, and I'm not sure that story is fit for—"

"But Dad, you promised!" TJ retorted. "All my life, whenever I asked you always said 'I'll tell you when you're older.' If twenty-one isn't old enough, then what is?" She sighed then, her voice softening as she looked up at Kurt. "Dad, I just want to know the truth. Don't I have a right to know how my father lost his eye?"

"She does have a point, hon," Wanda said gently. Kurt sighed, reaching up to scratch the ragged scar that rose above his black eye patch with a thick, indigo finger. Rosie bit her lip, feeling awkwardly out of place.

"If you're uncomfortable, I can go," she offered. "I still have a lot of cleaning up to do, and—"

"No, Rosie, you're staying right here," Wanda said, giving her husband's hand a meaningful squeeze. "It's past time Kurt got this off his chest. It's keeping it inside all this time that's made him self-conscious, and there really is no reason for it. "

TJ blinked up at her mother in surprise. "Wait Mom, do you mean you know? I thought Dad never told anyone what really happened."

Wanda shook her head. "Dr. McCoy gave me the details after the incident. But I've never heard a peep about it from your father. The only time he ever even mentioned it was in that story he used to tell you when you were small."

"Oh, right!" TJ smiled, remembering. "The one about the Wild Hunt! I used to love that story!"

"No kiddin'," Logan grunted, clearly amused by the memory. "You roped this poor sap here into tellin' you that story practically every night for five years." He laughed, "You have no idea how many missions were delayed because Nightcrawler's little girl was cryin' for her bedtime story!"

"Lay off it Logan," Kurt smirked. "There was only that one time. And if I remember right, I teleported to the site ahead of you."

"I'm sorry, but what is the Wild Hunt?" Rosie asked, surprised at her own interruption. She hadn't meant to pry, but sometimes her thoughts had a way of escaping before she realized she'd spoken. Everyone knew Kurt's eye was a sensitive subject, and the last thing she wanted was to offend the famous superhero with her big mouth. "It's just-it sounds familiar," she continued hesitantly, "…like something out of a fairy tale or a fable."

"Oh, it is," Kurt told her, apparently grateful for the change in topic. Rosie breathed a private sigh of relief. "It's a very ancient tale with its origins in old Germanic and Celtic folklore. I just gave it something of a personal twist." He stroked his salt-and-pepper goatee, his single golden eye distant. "It's been such a long time, though…I don't know if I even remember it all anymore…"

"Sure you do!" TJ exclaimed. "You have to! It's the greatest story ever!"

Kurt and Wanda shared a look over the table.

"Why don't you start it off then, Teej?" Wanda suggested. As she'd expected, her daughter looked scandalized at the very thought.

"No way! Dad's got to do it or it won't be right!"

"Well, I'll need a prompt," Kurt said, releasing his wife's hand just long enough to stretch his arms lazily above his head, causing the joints of his shoulders and back to crackle. "These old brain cells aren't as sharp as they used to be."

TJ made a face, which made Kurt laugh. "Don't start with that, Dad," she said. "You are not old. Just begin the story with 'Once upon a time'!"

Kurt grinned. "It's a bit corny," he teased, "but it just might work. OK, here goes...

"Once upon a time, there was a vast, dark forest..."


	2. Layer One: The Wild Hunt

Once upon a time, there was a vast, dark forest…

It was autumn, but the late-evening breeze was still warm. Twelve-year-old Kurt Wagner shielded his golden eyes from the glare of the setting sun and peered out over the fields of freshly bundled hay. The rich, earthy scent was glorious as he crouched on his favorite tree branch, his book propped open on one knee. It was a perfect moment—still and serene—yet it was one the boy knew would end all too soon. The sun's bright glow was already deepening in the west, and the wind was beginning to shift. It was time he packed up his books and started back through the dense wood to the traveling circus he called home.

Kurt's foster mother, the Gypsy sorceress Margali, had warned her young ward time and again to guard against his instinctive wanderlust. The Black Forest was a dangerous place when darkness fell. The shadows of the trees had shielded many a scurrilous deed. But Kurt was a resourceful boy, and he knew the forest well. Despite all the legends he'd been told about the thieves and demons that were said to prowl the darkened woods, the prospect of walking the narrow paths at night held no fear for him. His adolescent confidence had him convinced his night-vision and superhuman agility could defend him against any evil. That, and the special silver talisman Margali had given him long ago to wear around his neck. All she had said at the time was that the ornate charm was destined to save his life one day. Kurt had scoffed at her concern, but from that day on the boy had never been seen without it.

Kurt had been walking for nearly an hour, and it was starting to get cold. The sun was long gone now, but the moon had not yet risen. Kurt shivered despite himself, adjusting his pack on his shoulders as he strode brusquely through the crisp, fallen leaves that littered the path. The camp couldn't be too much further.

Suddenly, he paused, his sensitive pointed ears pricked and alert. Was it his imagination, or was that a wolf howling in the distance? No, not a wolf—dogs. Somewhere in the forest, a pack of hunting dogs were on the prowl. If they should catch his scent—

Kurt quickened his pace until it was nearly a run, his breath growing ragged as he stumbled through the leaves. Hoof beats—he could feel the vibration through the firm earth, pounding down the path behind him. There were two horses, maybe three, the sound of their drumming hooves accompanied by the panting, sniffling whines of dogs on the chase.

"Ach, Gott," Kurt gasped, running in earnest now as he scanned the blackness below the trees for somewhere to hide. Beyond the path, twisted tangles of green brambles rose as high as his head, creating an impenetrable wall of thorns on both sides. It seemed Kurt was trapped.

He could hear the voices of the huntsmen now, the eager shouts and laughter sending chills down his spine. And then, he saw them—two ghostly shadows riding high on their galloping steeds. Kurt stared in frantic terror as he dropped to his knees at the edge of the path, struggling to slide as much of his body as he could under a small gap he'd seen in the briars. No sooner had he forced his way in, however, than the dogs he'd heard were upon him.

They came in a pack, biting and yapping as they scratched at the hardened dirt, trying to snag his tail with their claws. There were seven dogs that he could see, their muscles rippling beneath pelts as black as pitch. Their eyes burned through the shadows like red embers; their pointed teeth gleamed like freshly sharpened daggers. Kurt wrapped his tail around his chest, curling himself into as tight a ball as possible. Sharp thorns dug into his back, shoulder, and thigh, but that small pain was nothing if it kept him away from those snapping teeth.

"Go away!" he hissed desperately, tears of terror stinging his eyes. "Please—just leave me alone! I'm not what you want—go away!"

"Hold there!"

Kurt's blood froze in his veins as a pair of high, leather riding boots strode fearlessly through the pack of snarling dogs to stand right in front of Kurt's hiding place. 

"What's in there, boys?" the hunter said, crouching down to peer through the briars. "What did you find?"

"Stand back!" the second hunter snapped. Unlike the first hunter, who had sounded almost playful, this man's voice was deep and commanding. 

The first hunter shared a look with the dogs, then obligingly rose to his feet.

"They must have found a rabbit, sir," he said. "Or perhaps even a deer. Shall I go in and—"

"I said stand back!" the commanding voice repeated, urging his horse a few steps closer. 

Kurt gasped out loud as he realized the man's gray horse had eight legs.

"It couldn't be…Sleipnir…" he breathed, his pulse pounding in his ears as he realized at last just who these hunters were. Somehow, he had stumbled directly into the path of the legendary Wild Hunt. If that was true, then the man who had just spoken could be none other than—

"Odin, what is going on?" the first hunter asked, his tone growing slightly suspicious as he crossed his arms over his chest. "You know what's in there, don't you."

"Loki," the cloaked man said, his single eye burning white under the brim of his tattered hat, "I'm not going to tell you again. Stand back and allow our quarry to rise."

The tall red-head sighed, but did as Odin had asked, whistling for the dogs to follow. As for Kurt, the last thing he wanted was to leave his hiding place. However, as soon as the dogs had gone, Kurt found himself crawling out onto the path. It was like he was in a dream, watching from the sidelines as he brushed the dirt from his jeans and straightened to face the hunters. 

Loki gasped, his vibrant green eyes widening at the sight of him.

"What in all the- Why, I've never seen anything like it!" he exclaimed. He started forward, clearly fascinated, but Odin grabbed his shoulder, warning him to keep back.

"Tell me your name, my son," the cloaked man said with surprising gentleness, his lone eye glowing like a white-hot cinder. 

Kurt swallowed hard, but just as when he'd been forced to climb out of his hiding place, he found himself compelled to answer.

"Kurt," he whispered, then he cleared his throat. "Kurt Wagner. Um, sir."

The cloaked man looked thoughtful, combing his fingers through his long, white beard.

"Kurt Wagner," he said, his deep voice rumbling low in the boy's sensitive ears. "Do you know who I am?"

"Y-Yes, sir. I-I think so."

"Who am I?"

Kurt bit his lip nervously, his golden gaze fixed on Sleipnir's eight powerful legs.

"You are Odin, sir," he answered at last. "Chief god of the ancient Scandinavian and Germanic tribes. They called you the All-Father. You're the ruler of the gods of Asgard. I—I've read many tales about you."

"And me?" The lanky red-head grinned, casually brushing his hair away from his eyes. "If you know about him, you've surely heard about me too."

"You're Loki," Kurt told him, his stomach giving a funny twitch as he said it. "You're the god of mischief and deceit and a skilled shapeshifter. Some stories also say you're the god of fire, and that you and Odin became blood brothers after he invited you to join the gods of Asgard."

Loki looked disappointed. 

"Is that all? After all I've done for mankind, you think there'd be more than just that. I mean, who do you think invented the fishing net? Or what about—"

"Enough, Loki," Odin interrupted pointedly. 

Loki glowered for a moment, then stalked off to play with the dogs. 

Odin watched him go, then turned his attention back to Kurt, his expression stern. 

Kurt's back stiffened and his tail gave an involuntary twitch.

"Our time in this place is limited," the god rumbled. "We have only until the moon rises to complete our hunt. You must ride with us."

Kurt blinked, taken completely off guard. 

"Ride with you? But—but I have to get home! Mama must be worried by now, and—"

"You have witnessed our hunt. You have gazed upon the faces of the gods. You may never go home."

"What!" Kurt exclaimed, too upset to watch his words. "But that's not fair! It's not my fault your dogs chased me! I've got to go back!"

"He can ride with me," Loki offered from where he was teasing the largest dog with a stick. Unlike the others, this dog was an oddly mottled brown color, reminiscent of a snake's skin. "I want to know what else these humans have been saying about me." He paused, shooting Kurt a strange, sly look. "You are a human, aren't you?"

"Of course I'm human!"

"But you're under some kind of curse, right? What did you do, insult a giantess or something?"

"I didn't insult anybody! I was born this way!"

"Oh." Loki winced, his sharp features softening in sudden sympathy. "I'm sorry, kid, I didn't know. My own children aren't much to look at either. I mean, look at Fenris here." He gestured to the largest of the dogs. "It's only when Odin and I go hunting that I'm allowed to take him off his lead. And poor Jörmungandr—the Midgard Serpent—he's even worse off, stuck at the bottom of the sea. At least you look kind of human, right?"

Kurt shrugged, not sure whether to feel offended that Loki was comparing him to his brood of monsters or relieved that at least one of the gods was starting to be nice to him. He didn't have much time to figure it out, either, because just then Odin pulled up in front of them on Sleipnir. Kurt suddenly remembered that the eight-legged stallion was also one of Loki's children.

"That's enough talk," Odin said, and frowned. "We must be on our way. The moon will be rising soon."

Loki smirked. 

"You make it sound so dramatic. It's not like we'll vanish in a puff of smoke if the moonlight hits us."

"We leave now," Odin stated flatly, as if he hadn't heard. "Call the dogs."

Loki rolled his eyes toward Kurt, then nimbly hopped up onto his own four-legged horse, hauling the boy up in front of him.

"Do you know how to whistle, Kurt Wagner?" the god asked, his crafty green eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Sure I do," Kurt asserted. "Stefan—he's my brother—he taught me."

Loki grinned. 

"All right, then," he said. "When I give the signal I want you to whistle as loud and as long as you can. Ready?"

Kurt nodded, starting to feel excited despite the fact he was being kidnapped by a pair of dangerously unpredictable ancient deities.

"Then let's go!"

With a swift kick, the horse was off, galloping after Sleipnir and Odin towards what looked like a bridge made of rainbows. Kurt stared in awe as he realized that had to be the Bifröst Bridge which joined the earth with Asgard, the realm of the ancient gods.

Kurt's awed trance was shattered by a gentle, yet firm whap upside the head. 

"How can you be deaf with ears like that?" Loki scolded from behind him. "I said whistle!"

Kurt gave a start. 

"Oh, right!" 

Most of the dogs were already following them, led by Loki's son, the wolf Fenris. Three of them, however, were still nosing about in the prickly underbrush. Sticking his fingers in his mouth, Kurt whistled as hard and as long as he could, just as Loki had told him. The wayward dogs immediately pricked their ears and started pelting down the path. Kurt reflected that from high up on a horse, the enormous dogs didn't look half as frightening as they had on the ground. 

Loki laughed and ruffled Kurt's curly, indigo hair.

"Couldn't have done it better myself," he said, and grinned. "Now hang on tight—it's a steep climb. We wouldn't want you to fall off!"

Kurt leaned forward to hug the horse's neck and watched as the world he knew slowly faded out behind them. It was only then that he realized he might never see his circus family again!


	3. Interlude

"You know, I don't remember this story bein' so detailed," Logan said, and smirked, taking a quick swig of beer. "But then, I never heard the whole thing, neither."

"That's what was so great about it," TJ said. "It was an adventure, and Dad would add to it every night. He never told the same part twice."

"Hmm..." Logan grunted thoughtfully. "But what about the eye? When does it get to that part?"

"I'm coming to it," Kurt said, smiling at his friend's impatience. "Let's see…they took me up through the gate to Asgard, and I spent a few weeks living with Loki and his wife, the goddess Sigunn. All the time, though, I was trying to figure out a way to get back home. What I didn't know was that my presence in Asgard was causing something of a split among the gods. Loki, Thor, Frey and Freya, and a few others felt I should be allowed to leave. Tyr, the god of war, argued that sending me back after seeing Asgard was too dangerous. He thought I should be killed. Margali's talisman protected me from that, though. As long as I kept it on, Tyr couldn't touch me. As for Odin, he refused to listen to anybody.

"Finally, Loki had had enough debating. With Freya's help, he and Thor smuggled me out past Heimdall—the all-seeing, all-hearing guardian of the gate—and took me down the rainbow bridge. They left me at the home of the Norns.

"The Norns were three wise sisters who lived at the foot of Yggdrazil, a giant ash tree that supported the nine worlds of Norse mythology. My talisman was useless there, so I had to rely on my wits to get them to tell me how I could go home without Odin or Tyr finding out and chasing me down. Finally, they agreed to give me the knowledge I sought—but only for a price."

"Your eye!" Rosie called out, as thoroughly absorbed in the story as TJ. "Just like Odin himself!"

Kurt grinned. 

"You got it, Rosie," he said. "You see, the Norns were fascinated by my golden eyes and they coveted my ability to see in the dark. I agreed to the trade, and they set me three impossible tasks to complete."

"You had to build a boat out of stone, fashion an oar out of water, and make a sail from the skin of the Midgard Serpent," TJ interjected with a smile. 

Kurt raised an eyebrow.

"So, you remembered! But do you recall how I did it?"

"Well…" TJ pondered. "You carved the oar out of ice, and getting the Serpent to give you an old skin was easy because you knew his father, Loki, but I forget about the stone boat."

"Pumice," Kurt explained. "Frey let me use his magic ship, Skidbladnir, to fly to a volcano where I gathered loads and loads of pumice stone, and then Loki got his friends the dwarves to help me craft it all into a boat."

TJ snapped her fingers. 

"That's it. I can't believe I forgot."

"This story is really something else," Rosie said, shaking her head. "It's a shame you haven't written it down. What happened next?"

"Well, when the Norns saw I had successfully completed their impossible tasks, they told me which rivers I needed to take to make my way back to Germany. They also had me take a dip in the snake-infested spring of Hvergelmir, saying that it would make me invisible to Odin's searching eye."

Wanda shivered visibly. 

"Eeew," she said. "You never told me that part."

Kurt chuckled and squeezed her hand. 

"I figured the Midgard Serpent was enough," he said. "I know how you feel about snakes, meine Liebe."

"So then what?" Logan asked, pretending indifference but clearly interested. "The Norns scooped out your eye and sent you on your way?"

TJ made a face at her uncle's graphic choice of words, but Kurt just shrugged. 

"Ja, basically. But they did not so much 'scoop' it out as magically transport it away. This is a G-rated story, after all."

Logan snorted. 

"Whatever. It's all kid stuff anyway. Why don't you tell us all what really happened? Now that's a story worth listenin' to."

Kurt gnawed at his lower lip with a sharp canine, clearly hesitant. 

"Well, you see," he said, "the truth is I don't actually remember much of what happened during the fight. I had been hurt…well…very badly, of course, and…" He trailed off, his lone eye focused on the table. "It's just difficult to pull all the images together."

Wanda pursed her lips in concern, then looked over to Logan. 

"You were there that night, Logan," she said. "Why don't you try to fill in the gaps?"

"What me?" Logan frowned. "I'm no good at tellin' stories. 'Specially with kids around."

"I am not a kid," TJ attested firmly. "Go on and say what happened. I can handle it."

"Yes, say it, Logan," Kurt said, his expression stoic. "Wanda is right. I have been avoiding this for far too long."

Logan scrunched up his face. 

"You sure, Kurt? I know this is some pretty sensitive stuff for you…"

"Yes," Kurt nodded firmly. "I would rather hear it from you than read the facts in some cold, formal report."

Logan looked at his friend for a long time, then finally nodded. 

"OK, pal," he said. "I'll tell it to you straight.

"All this happened some eighteen years ago, when TJ here was just a kid in diapers. Apocalypse had been buildin' up his following for some time, and it was pretty clear we'd be the ones who'd have to stop him. Cyke was still with us then, and the old Prof. But it was Nightcrawler and me who ended up in the thick of it when the shi—sorry, Wanda—'crap' hit the fan…"


	4. Layer Two: Making the Whole World Blind

All this happened some eighteen years ago…

 

Wall Street was gone. The proud, gleaming skyscrapers that had once marked the financial capital of the world were now nothing more than twisted, burnt-out shells. The ruins loomed like gnarled, grasping hands in the dusky twilight, lit from within by occasional pockets of flames and sparks. Wolverine stared at the charred, flaming rubble in grim disbelief, his jaw clenching as a cold rage flooded through his veins.

"Unglaublisch." Nightcrawler's voice was hoarse and thick with emotion as he flew the X-Jet low over the ruined street. His golden eyes were reflected in the windshield; two blazing coals against the rising curls of smoke.

"They've really done it this time," Wolverine growled, his adamantium claws straining under the skin of his tightly clenched fists. "It's like a nuclear holocaust out there."

"I'll scan for life signs," Nightcrawler said, forcing himself to rip his gaze away from the terrible scene to focus on the control panel in front of him. Wolverine shook his head.

"You ain't gonna find anyone, buddy," he stated flatly. "Poccy's Horsemen have been and gone. We're too late."

Nightcrawler looked up from his monitor, his taut, angry features almost frightening in the greenish light from the screen. 

"I am scanning for life signs," he repeated. 

Wolverine shrugged, but he kept his mouth shut, letting Nightcrawler work.

"I gotta admit, I didn't expect they'd take it this far," he said after a few minutes, his gaze fixed on the smoldering rubble below. "Until now, Poccy has always preached 'survival of the fittest.' What good is settin' the factions against each other if they all wind up dead?"

Nightcrawler spoke without looking up. 

"We are just pawns to him," he said, and frowned, his accent lending his words a clipped sharpness the Wolverine had rarely heard from his friend. "Mutants and humans alike. He plays on humanity's fears, agitates the weak-minded to violence, then watches from the sidelines as they destroy each other. He does not care who wins in the end—only that he will come to dominate the world unopposed." Kurt's frown deepened, his brow furrowing over the flickering monitor as he said, "Apocalypse is a man without a soul."

"Hey, I ain't gonna argue with you there," Wolverine said. "All I'm sayin' is that ancient Egyptian bastard has been spoutin' his mutant super-race garbage for five-thousand years and I—"

"Logan!" Nightcrawler exclaimed suddenly, cutting him off in mid-thought. "I'm getting something! Six mutant life signs—and one of them is incredibly strong. It has to be Apocalypse!"

"Come to gloat, no doubt," Wolverine snarled, glaring at the glowing blips on the screen. "Take us down, Elf. I want to see what he's up to."

Nightcrawler nodded, already on the lookout for a safe, stable landing place. "We should contact Cyclops," he said. "In case we're spotted, it would be good to know back up is not far away."

*******

Apocalypse stood high on a fallen block of concrete and steel, like a lion surveying his pride. The gray-faced metamorph's body armor gleamed dark blue in the flickering light of a nearby electrical fire. Below him, three of his Horsemen were circling two cringing figures from astride their metallic steeds. 

Wolverine's dark eyes narrowed as he realized he recognized the terrified mutants as the leaders of New York's two most powerful anti-human factions: Callisto of the Morlocks and the green-skinned Mesmero, who was rumored to manipulate the latent racist fears of his followers through hypnotism. As he and Nightcrawler watched, the Horseman known as War aimed a savage kick to Callisto's ribs. The ragged Morlock crumpled to the ground with a gasp, only to snap her head up with a fierce, defiant glare.

"What do you want from us?" the Morlock leader rasped furiously. "We have done only as you bid us to do! We destroyed the human factions once and for all!"

Apocalypse's only response was a brief nod. At that signal, Pestilence's lean face stretched into a gruesome smile. Hopping off her steed, the wiry woman approached Callisto with an outstretched hand.

"No—don't you touch me!" Callisto shrieked, scurrying backwards like a crab only to run straight into Famine's mechanical mount. The Morlock kicked out, but Pestilence caught her ankle in a sharp, lightening twist. The bone snapped. Callisto screamed in pain, but she continued to fight, scratching at her opponent's gaunt face with her sharp, metallic gloves. 

Pestilence snarled, her hand snaking out to seize Callisto's chin. At once, the Morlock's pale skin erupted in a rash of seeping ulcers. Her wild shrieks faded to a terrible, moaning whine as she twitched and writhed on the uneven concrete…and finally lay still.

Pestilence stood and brushed the soot and dust from her knees. 

Mesmero slowly backed away, visibly shaking in unconcealed terror.

"She will not touch you, fool," Apocalypse rumbled from above, causing the green-skinned mutant to jump. "Stand and face me."

"Wha—what does my m-master wish of me?" Mesmero stammered, straightening his shoulders with obvious effort.

"Yours is the power to control minds," Apocalypse stated. "You can replace the memories of your foes with images of your own creation. Go to the lair of the X-Men. Slip into their thoughts and dreams. Convince them to accept you as one of them, then report back to me. Do this, and you will be rewarded. Fail, and face the same fate as the brash Morlock Callisto."

Mesmero looked up, his eyes wide but determined. "I will not fail you, master," he said, his voice rough with barely suppressed fear. "The X-Men will not be able to resist my power."

"Wanna bet," Wolverine growled under his breath. 

Nightcrawler touched his shoulder, gesturing for him to join him deeper in the shadows.

"We cannot let Mesmero leave here," the German whispered once they were far enough away. "We must stop him now—catch him off guard before he has a chance to focus his thoughts."

"No kiddin'," Wolverine grunted. "But the bozo's surrounded by Horsemen—not to mention ol' Poccy up there."

"I've already alerted Cyclops," Nightcrawler said. "He and the others should get here within fifteen minutes."

"So all we gotta do is hold 'em off 'till then." Wolverine smirked, a fierce gleam in his eye. "No sweat."

"I'll grab Mesmero and 'port him into the jet's holding cell," Nightcrawler said. "You'll have to distract the others until I get back. And don't forget—those mechanical beasts can fly."

"Got it," Wolverine nodded. "You ready?"

Nightcrawler looked into his friend's eyes, reading the determination there. He smiled, trying to display more confidence than he felt. 

"Ready."

"Then let's go!"

Wolverine charged from their hiding place with a primal roar, extending his claws with a fierce, metallic SNIKT! The conspirators turned in alarm. Taking advantage of their brief confusion, Nightcrawler teleported into the circle of Horsemen and clasped his strong arms around Mesmero from behind, the pair of them vanishing in a BAMF of sulfurous smoke just as Wolverine rammed his way into the Horsemen's midst. Famine and Pestilence fell off their steeds at the impact, causing Apocalypse to roar in frustration.

"Don't just sit there, fools!" he shouted from above. "Destroy him!"

War kicked his steed into motion. 

Wolverine swiped at the monster's flank as it rose into the air, the squeak of its metallic joints accompanied by the Horseman's cold laughter. Infuriated by the sound, Wolverine turned on the Horseman's companions. 

Famine managed to scramble back onto his mount, but Pestilence hesitated a split-second too long. She reached out to touch Wolverine's arm, but the raging mutant was too quick. He caught the deadly Horsewoman with a swift jab to the gut, her toxic blood sizzling as it burnt the skin of his already healing fist. Pestilence's long jaw dropped and she sank to the ground beside Callisto's unmoving body, leaving the way open for Wolverine to commandeer her mechanical steed.

That soon turned out to be a mistake. The instant he was on its back, the metal monster leaped into the air, bucking and kicking for all it was worth. Wolverine had to sink his claws into the creature's neck in order to keep from being flung off. That distraction allowed the remaining Horsemen time to regroup. As Wolverine fought desperately for control of his steed, War and Famine rose to flank him on both sides. He was trapped, unable to use his claws without risking a twenty-foot drop onto the flaming concrete below.

ZZAPP-PING!

A bolt of orange energy tore a smoking hole in the side of War's steed, sending the Horseman spinning out of control. 

Famine left the struggling Wolverine to dive after the shooter. 

Wolverine strained to look over his shoulder, only to grin when he spotted the distinctive flash of Nightcrawler's teleport far below. If Nightcrawler was back, that meant Mesmero was safely stashed in the X-Jet. Apocalypse's plan to infiltrate the X-Men had been foiled before it had even begun. Now, all they had to do was get out of this skirmish alive.

While Wolverine continued his fight with Pestilence's steed, Nightcrawler made his stand on the ground. The cavalry was coming, but there was no guarantee they'd arrive in time. Even at their top speed, Cyclops and the others were at least ten minutes away. But Apocalypse was here now, and he was wide open. War had crashed some distance down the street, leaving only Famine to contend with. If Nightcrawler was careful and he played his cards right, there was a chance the threat posed by Apocalypse could be ended that very night.

Apocalypse was an instigator. He observed from the sidelines, disdaining to involve himself in the chaos he created. 

Standing there in the smoking rubble of what once had been Wall Street, Nightcrawler was determined that, this time, he wouldn't get away with it.

Grasping the laser gun he'd taken from the X-Jet's weapon stores, Nightcrawler tracked Famine's steed as the emaciated Horseman came hurtling straight toward him through the darkening sky. He was fully aware that Apocalypse was watching from his vantage point high on the concrete block—in fact he was counting on it. Waiting for the last possible moment, Nightcrawler squeezed the trigger, teleporting an instant before the orange energy burst hit. It impacted with a terrific explosion as he reappeared directly in front of Apocalypse, his gun aimed at the enormous mutant's bald, gray forehead.

It was a spectacularly daring move, and if Nightcrawler had used it against any other criminal mastermind it would have been the perfect show-stopper. Unfortunately, Apocalypse was far quicker than his massive build implied. The moment Nightcrawler appeared before him, the ancient metamorph grabbed the gun with lightening reflexes, ripping it out of Kurt's hand with such fierceness it took a chunk of skin along with it. Nightcrawler gasped in surprised pain, frozen in place as he found himself suddenly staring down the barrel of his own laser gun. 

Apocalypse laughed—a cold, dangerous sound. 

In that moment, Kurt Wagner was certain he was going to die.

"You insect," Apocalypse spat, growing taller with each contemptuous word. "Do you not know who I am? I am En Sabah Nur! Your pathetic trickery may have hindered my Horsemen, but it cannot fool me. I am the first of my kind, and I shall also be the last."

"Not if I have anythin' to say about it, bub!"

Nightcrawler and Apocalypse both looked up in surprise as a speeding silver blur came rocketing toward them. It rammed into Apocalypse's side, knocking the gleaming blue giant off balance, then swerved back for Nightcrawler.

"Gott sei dank!" Kurt gasped as he leaped onto the back of Wolverine's metallic steed. "For a while there, I truly thought I was a dead man."

"This show ain't over yet, Elf," Wolverine said, bringing the beast around for another pass. "Cyke and the guys'll be here any second. We gotta keep ol' Poccy occupied 'till then."

Nightcrawler started to respond, only to gasp in alarm. Apocalypse was back to his original size, and he was aiming the laser gun directly at Wolverine's head!

"Logan, get down!" he shouted, shoving his friend against the steed's silvery neck. There was a blinding orange flash, and suddenly Kurt was falling unconscious through the air.

"NO!" Logan roared, forcing the beast into a lightning turn. But it was clear he would not be fast enough to catch the unconscious acrobat...


	5. Entr'acte

"But Uncle Logan, if you didn't catch him, how-?"

"Storm," Logan explained. "She'd seen the laser fire from the Blackbird and flown ahead to help. Lucky for Kurt, here, she was able to slow his fall with a timely gust of wind. But that didn't stop him from landing on that broken window."

Kurt winced, rubbing an old scar on his side. 

"Don't remind me," he said. "When I woke up, I was swathed in bandages from head to toe. Not to mention…" He gestured to his eye patch and gave a vague shrug. "The laser beam just grazed the side of my head. I was lucky, though. One micrometer to the left and—"

"Don't," Wanda interrupted sharply, covering her husband's hand with both her own. "Don't think about that. When they brought you to the medbay and I saw all that blood…for a moment I truly thought—I was so afraid that—"

"Wanda," Kurt said softly, gently kissing the hands that were squeezing his so tightly. "Liebling, it is all right."

TJ glanced at her parents, biting her lip with one sharp canine. 

Rosie averted her eyes, feeling slightly uncomfortable. 

Logan drained his beer and set the bottle down with a clank.

"Hey, how'd you think I feel?" he said. "If Kurt hadn't played the hero that night, I would have been a goner. We really set ol' Poccy back, though." He grinned. "We wrecked all three of those mechanical beasts, and Pestilence was out of commission for almost a year. Not to mention catchin' Mesmero."

"Ja," Kurt allowed. "But Apocalypse and his Horsemen did get away."

"Dad," TJ said. "That's not the point. What you did that night was amazing! I can't believe you've never talked about it!"

"I agree with TJ," Rosie spoke up. "That really was incredible. I mean, you stood face to face with Apocalypse and survived. There aren't many good guys who can say that."

Kurt started to chuckle at that, but ended up laughing out loud. Wanda also cracked a smile. 

TJ grinned.

"Thanks for telling us that story, Uncle Logan," she said. "And thank you, Daddy. I know that was hard for you, and I really appreciate it."

For a moment Kurt looked uncomfortable. Then his expression softened and he pulled his daughter into a warm hug. After a long moment, they both sat back with a smile.

"Well, this has certainly been some birthday party," he said with a chuckle. "What time is it, anyway?"

Rosie glanced at the wall clock and gasped. 

"It's nearly two thirty in the morning!" she exclaimed. "How can it possibly have gotten so late?"

"We musta been havin' a good time." Logan shrugged.

"Rosie has a point, though," Wanda said. "It is pretty late. We should have been home hours ago."

"No, it's OK," Rosie said quickly. "I'm really honored you let me join you. It was my privilege to host your party at my bar."

"Geez, Rosie-girl, don't go all formal on us," Logan said. "You've got a great place here."

"Yeah, thanks Rosie," TJ smiled. "Do you need any help taking down the balloons and stuff?"

"No, it's OK. I have some helpers coming in the morning."

"Then I guess we'd better be heading out," Wanda said as she, Kurt, and TJ stood and put on their coats. "We do have a bit of a drive ahead of us, after all. Good night, Rosie."

"Good night, guys," Rosie said. "Come back any time. And happy twenty-one, TJ!"

"It was really great," TJ said. "And I really liked that German beer."

Kurt laughed and put an arm around his daughter's shoulder. 

"That's my girl," he said, smiling proudly.

"Regular chip off the old block," Wolverine added from his chair. "'Night, Rosie-girl. I'll see you next week."

Rosie watched as the four of them filed out the door, then went to get her own coat. The balloons could stay up until morning.

*******

An hour or so after leaving Rosie's Bar, TJ was climbing into bed when she heard a soft knock at her door.

"Yeah?" she called out. "Who's there?"

The door opened and Kurt stepped in. 

"It's just me," he said, coming over to sit at the edge of her bed. 

TJ scooted over a bit, bending her knees to make room. 

Kurt smiled softly, his expression distant.

"You know," he said, "I remember when your mother and I first bought you this bed. Your feet barely made it halfway down. I used to sit right here and tickle your toes through the sheets." He chuffed a soft, nostalgic laugh. "Now, you've gotten so big there is barely room left for me."

TJ shot her father a look. 

"Dad, come on," she said. "There's always room for you."

Kurt looked at his daughter's face; reading the familiar, wry warmth in her golden eyes, the curve of her full lips—so much like Wanda's—and found himself blinking back a sudden stinging in his own eye. Recovering quickly, he smiled, reaching out to squeeze her slender hand.

"Have I told you today how beautiful you are?"

TJ smirked. 

"Only about a hundred times. And don't start on about how fast the time has gone because I've heard that one too. Twenty-one is just a number, Dad. Sure I have a boyfriend and I'm really busy with school and work and stuff and sometimes I forget to call. But I love you. I'm serious—you're my hero, Dad, and that's never going to change."

Kurt found he had to swallow hard before he could reply to that. 

"Ach, Liebling…" He reached out to tuck a stray lock of indigo hair behind her pointed ear, allowing his hand to linger a moment over the side of her face. TJ smiled and nestled her cheek against his palm before sliding back against her pillow. Kurt sighed and dropped his hand to his lap.

"I am going to tell you something now," he said quietly, his lone eye fixed on his fidgeting thumbs. "It is a story I have never told anyone. Not Logan, not Herr Professor…not even your mother."

TJ sat up, her head tilted slightly, waiting for him to continue. 

Kurt glanced over to her door to make certain it was closed, then bent his head down close to hers, lowering his voice like a conspirator in the back room of a pub. 

"You asked me before how I lost my eye," he said.

TJ furrowed her brow, slightly confused. 

"Yeah, but didn't Uncle Logan—"

"What your uncle told you was only part of the truth," Kurt interrupted, clearly uncomfortable. "I did lose my eye that night—but it was not the eye I was born with."

"Huh? Wait, are you saying you had a fake eye before that? Like that TV detective…what's his name…Columbo?"

Kurt smirked at that. 

"Ja, pretty much," he confessed. "But let me explain. It was a long time ago, long before I'd ever heard of the X-Men or teleportation or even mutants. I was twelve years old, and my brother Stefan's friend Richie had just arrived at our little family circus all the way from the United States…"


	6. Layer Three: The Truth

It was a long time ago…I was twelve years old, and my brother's friend Richie had just arrived from the United States…

 

"Yo, Kurt! Go long!"

"Huh?" Kurt looked up from his book just in time to catch a spinning football full in the face. Stefan and Richie had to bend double, they were laughing so hard. Kurt glared up at the tall teenagers through watering eyes, clutching a hand to his throbbing nose.

"Don't cry," he hissed to himself through tightly clenched teeth. "Don't cry, don'tcry, don'tcrydon'tcrydon'tcry…"

"Aw, look at the poor wittle baby," Richie scoffed, nudging the chuckling Stefan in the ribs. "Look at 'im, Stef—he's crying!"

"I am not!" Kurt retorted angrily, shutting his book with a fierce slam.

"Ha! That's it!" Richie exclaimed. "The kid's showin' some spunk at last!"

"Yeah, Kurt," Stefan said. "Why don't you put that book down and play some ball with us? Seriously, you're getting as bad as Jimaine."

"I would if you were playing real football..." Kurt scowled from under his hand.

"This is real football!" Richie smirked, bending down to recover the brown, oblong ball from where it had rolled across the uneven ground. "Soccer is for wimps."

Kurt's golden eyes widened dangerously at that deliberately provocative statement. Richie may have been twice his size in both height and girth, but at that moment all Kurt saw was an obnoxious, loud-mouthed cretin who had continuously picked on him and monopolized his big brother's attention since his arrival at the circus two days ago. It was time to show the arrogant jerk just whose country he was in. 

Leaving his book on the ground, Kurt clenched his fists and took a threatening step forward, his long tail lashing behind him like a whip. 

Fortunately for the wiry twelve-year-old, Stefan caught on before Richie noticed Kurt's advance.

"Hey, Richie," he said quickly. "Why don't we try out that game you were telling me about this morning?"

"What, baseball?" Richie asked, absently tossing his American football in the air and catching it. "Nah. We don't have enough guys to play a real game, and there's not enough room in this dinky camp for the bases. Besides, stupid customs wouldn't let me take my bat onto the plane. Said it was a weapon." 

Richie furrowed his brow, deep in thought. At least, that's no doubt the expression he'd intended. Kurt thought he looked constipated.

"You know," the teen said finally, "we could try a game of stickball. I've got a baseball in my pack, and there are plenty of sticks in that forest. Wanna give it a shot?"

"Sure!" Stefan said, taking firm hold of Kurt's shoulder. Kurt shot him a glowering look, but Stefan grinned him down. "Kurt and I will collect some good sticks. You go get the ball, OK?"

"Got it," Richie agreed. "We meet back here in fifteen minutes. Then I'll show the little blue pipsqueak how we Americans play ball, right Stef?"

Kurt gave his brother a meaningful look. 

"Please, Stefan," he gritted through his teeth. "Just one little punch, right in the nose. Just one, that's all I ask."

Instead of responding, Stefan said, "Yeah, that's right, Rich. Fifteen minutes!"

Once Richie was out of sight, Kurt spun on Stefan, his golden eyes blazing. 

"I don't get how you can you stand that jerk!" he exclaimed. "Why don't you tell him off for once, instead of just grinning like an idiot all the time?"

Stefan sighed, crouching down until he was at Kurt's eye level. 

"Look, Kurt," he said, "Richie and I have been pen pals for a long time. Trust me, he's not as awful as he seems."

"Hrumph," Kurt snorted, and crossed his arms. 

"Kurt, I'm serious," Stefan said. "You don't know what he had to go through to convince his parents to let him come here. Give him a chance."

Kurt glared at his brother for a long time, but finally he sighed. 

"All right," he said, letting his arms fall to his sides.

"Good!" Stefan smiled. "Now come on. We have to find some good, strong sticks."

*******

To his surprise, once he was comfortable with the rules of the game, Kurt found he was really enjoying himself. It turned out he had a talent for pitching, and he wasn't so bad as a batter either. 

Unfortunately, Richie wasn't satisfied with a simple, friendly game. He had an aggressively competitive nature, and once he saw how good Kurt was as a pitcher he couldn't resist the challenge. Before the boys really knew it, the stickball game had turned into a fierce pitching contest—each of the boys trying to outdo the other two in speed and accuracy.

It was Kurt's turn at bat. Stefan grinned as he handed him the stick, then strode off to watch from the sidelines. 

Kurt twirled the stick a few times, then got into position, turning his full attention to Richie.

"All right, let's see what you've got!" he shouted. 

Richie laughed.

"Try to beat this, kid!" 

Winding up, Richie fired the ball at Kurt with all his strength. Eyes wide and focused with determination, Kurt swung. Stick and ball connected, only to erupt in a minor explosion of splinters. 

Kurt cried out in alarmed pain, dropping the stick to cover his left eye. Richie stood frozen, but Stefan ran at once to his brother's side.

"Kurt!" he said firmly, trying to get the boy to lower his arms. "Kurt, let me see. Look at me, Kurt."

Kurt dropped his hand for a moment, only to wince and press it back over his eye even harder than before. 

Stefan bit his lip.

"Come on, Kurt," he said, taking his brother by the elbow. "I'm taking you to see Mom. Richie, you're coming too. Hurry up—this looks pretty serious."

Kurt moaned, but allowed himself to be led. One if not more of the splinters had lodged in his eye, he knew that. What he didn't know and couldn't guess was just how bad his injury would soon turn out to be…


	7. Epilogue

"Margali was able to remove the splinters, but within a few days it was obvious my eye was infected. Richie, to his credit, went out of his way to get me over-the-counter medicines from the local pharmacy. Unfortunately they did little good. Finally, after a lot of debate, it was decided I would have to be taken to the hospital."

"Oh my God!" TJ winced. "You must have been terrified!"

Kurt smiled. 

"You should have seen the ER nurse," he said. "She nearly fainted when she realized I wasn't wearing some kind of elaborate circus costume. As for the doctors, they were a little too fascinated with me for comfort. For a long time after that, I half believed they took my eye just so they could study it."

TJ made a face. 

"Dad, that's gross. You should have sued them or something."

Kurt shook his head. 

"Nein. My eye was very badly infected by that time. There really was no way to save it. And it hurt so terribly, the operation was almost a relief. What worried me most was how all this would affect my training as an acrobat."

"Apparently not too much, considering," TJ observed. "But that's so incredible. I mean, you would think something like that would mess up your depth perception, but you still managed to become the most famous acrobat in Europe. Not to mention the teleporting."

Kurt shrugged. 

"It was a little strange at first, but I soon got used to it. And once I'd gotten my glass eye, in many ways it was easy to forget the incident had ever happened. It was a beautiful glass eye, entirely hand crafted by one of the artisans we employed at the circus. Truth is, the first time I fully felt the loss was the night that eye was destroyed."

"By Apocalypse..." TJ nodded slowly. "But then, why didn't you just get another false eye?"

"When Apocalypse fired that gun at me, the force of the laser's blast made the glass explode," Kurt explained quietly. "Hank was unable to repair all the damage the shards had caused to my eyelid and the surrounding tissue, so I never was able to get another false eye. So, I've been stuck with this patch ever since."

TJ smiled gently, reaching out to touch the scarred side of her father's face. 

"I like the patch," she said. "I always thought it made you look cool, like a pirate or an adventurer or something."

Kurt chuckled. 

"Danke," he said with a slight tilt of his head.

"But Dad," TJ continued, a bit more hesitantly this time. "There's one thing I still don't get. How come you never told Mom about all this?"

Kurt sighed. 

"It's stupid, really," he admitted, sounding uncharacteristically bashful. "You see, when I was growing up, I didn't have a handsome, dashing father to look up to the way you did." 

TJ smirked, and he smiled...only to grow somber again as he went on. 

"So, when I first met your mother, I was deeply self-conscious about my appearance. I didn't show it, of course, but I was terrified she would leave me if she found out about my eye. I know now how foolish I was to feel that way, but I just couldn't face the possibility that she would...think I was...ugly."

"You're not ugly, Dad," TJ assured him, patting his hand. "Take it from me."

"Ach, Liebling." Kurt smiled. "To the eyes of love, even the homeliest appears beautiful. But, thank you just the same."

"If I didn't know you were teasing, I might have to take offense to that remark," TJ said, drawing herself up. "After all, everyone I meet says how much I look like you."

Kurt laughed, leaning in to kiss the top of his daughter's head. 

"You are my strong, beautiful girl," he said warmly. "I am so proud of you, Liebling."

TJ smiled, flushing slightly. "Thanks, Dad. And don't worry. I won't tell anyone your story. But I do think you should tell Mom the truth at least."

"Perhaps I will," Kurt said. "But not tonight. It is very late and we both have a great deal to do tomorrow."

"Hmph. That's just an excuse," TJ said, but she was smiling. "Good night, Dad. I had a really great birthday."

"Gute Nacht, Liebling," Kurt said, heading for the door. "I'll think about what you said."

"See you tomorrow then."

"Tomorrow. Happy Birthday, Teej."

And with a soft click of the door, Kurt was gone. 

TJ turned on her side, her eyes focused on the small, framed photograph that sat on her bedside table. It was of her and her parents, taken when she was about ten years old. She took particular note of her mother, of how her arm was wrapped so affectionately around her father's waist. As always, Kurt wore his eye patch. 

TJ smiled to herself at the sight. With her eyes still fixed on her father's face, she reached out a hand and turned off her light.

The End

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Thanks so much for reading my story! :)

**Author's Note:**

> Title quote attributed to Irish playwright Oliver Goldsmith (1728-1774).


End file.
